The day after the family horse died, the little boy asked his mom if it would be okay to stay home and not go to swimming lessons. "I'm sorry honey. I know it's sad, but life has to continue to go on. Mom has to go to work and you need to go to your swimming lessons."
I heard this story from the gal who cleaned my teeth today. It was her son. I say fuck work and stay home with your grieving son! But staying on my side of the line, I just felt my own feelings as I heard her share the story with me and said on my way out that I would be thinking of her son as he grieves his horse friend. "For a little boy to verbalize that kind of need for himself is a really big deal."
Yes indeed! I wish you were my mother. Same thing happened to me straight rejection and all the horrors of feelings that goes through our little bodies at that time. For me now starts that war because depending on his feelings like me your thinking you made a big mistake in talking to your mom. Shame, humiliation and anger get a big taste of it. Tough love, no just tough life directed towards women on account of rejection from your mom. It only took that one time and our relationship was over. Never again will I ask a question from her because she will crush me and then tell her sisters what she did. Becoming a laughing stock of the family. He's only a boy he'll get over it but he never does. No more personal talk ever again. Can't trust her she just do it over and over again. I guess that was the set up for the rest of my life to get him while he is young and it worked. I only wanted to ask a question between her and me but I guess I was never good enough to speak to. I don't know why I would have listened but that just goes to show that there was nothing I could do and still today it's the same old same old. Thank you for that message because this was the core of my whole hated life from my mom not loving me.
Coming out of the grocery store, I saw a little young boy, probably 3 or 4 years old with his mama. Both dressed in what we used to call in our family growing up "everyday clothes." I immediately felt drawn to them still feeling much as an adult how very little use I have for "dress up" clothes. Their demeanor of simplicity and resemblance quite possibly to what I may have looked like going into town for groceries with my mother as a little farm girl made me want to make some kind of contact with them.
I saw the little boy had a bandage upon his thumb and asked him if he could share with me what happened. His mom began to relay to me the story as the little boy squinted up toward his mother watching her words being spoken to me. I bent down on one knee to look into his eyes and said, "That sounds to me that what happened to you and your thumb would have really hurt...I would have cried it it had been me. Did you cry?" No words came, only a big nod. "Oh, yes," his mother chimed in "he cried." "Good for you." I said to him "Good for you." "He's a tough little guy." his mother said as we began to walk to our own cars. "Tough, but hopefully staying soft hearted through good use of his tears." I replied. "Yes." she said. "It's hard to keep them that way, these days."
Wes, thank you so much for taking the time to articulate your pain that was stirred up. I can't tell you how much it helps me inside myself to read your words telling the truth about your own life. And James, there is no other place I want to be anymore than with those who are resuscitating their feeling hearts...yes, there's room outside on the deck for you, please feel free to come anytime to cry your little heart out.